


Droit du Seigneur

by werpiper



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Asymmetric Relationship, Blindfolds, Coming of Age, Complete, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Disabled Character, Evil Creatures, Explicit Consent, F/M, First Time, Flogging, Immortality and Death, Knifeplay, Non-romantic love, Oral Sex, Parents and Children, Rope Bondage, Sadism, Suspension, Taking up Arms, Wood-elf Culture, elves are weird, some elves are weirder than others
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-17 17:31:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1396450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/werpiper/pseuds/werpiper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Tauriel came to live in Thranduil's halls and work in his Guard.</p><p>(written for meta-hacking-about with the problematic nature of some sex stuff in tolkien -- celebrian's departure, and the way elves sail west when their spouses die.  you probably don't need to think about this for the story, though :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A maiden approaching maturity comes to the Halls of the King.

On a late-summer evening, Tauriel's father came to her at the creek where she was fishing for trout with her hands. They smiled at each other, but kept silent until she'd landed two more fish. She splashed back to shore and they embraced, her head tucked underneath his chin. 

"This fall will mark your twenty-second begetting day," he said, "and Thranduil our king requests your presence in his halls, to live for two years until you reach your formal maturity."

Tauriel stepped back to meet her father's grey eyes. She had been born and raised in the wild Greenwood, rarely seeing another elf besides her parents, and never Thranduil. "Why would I go?"

Her father took out his knife and sat down to clean the fish, and after a moment Tauriel joined him. "To learn in his halls," said her father after awhile. "There are many elves there, and many kinds of wisdom -- ways of art, and magic, and fighting, ways of living far beyond your mother's and mine. Thranduil is a great lord, older than this age, and the protector of our great forest. You should meet him, and them, and discover more of yourself."

Tauriel hummed. She loved her family, and her life, and she supposed herself; they sang and danced, gathered and hunted, knapped and wove, slept in trees or caves and knew no need. Halls and king meant nothing to her. But she was wise enough already to understand that meaninglessness showed a lack in herself, and she huffed out a sigh as she realized it.

Her father nodded. "You will, then," and Tauriel nodded back. "All right. We'll send a bird with your message."

Her mother met them a little past sunset, and they ate the trout sliced thin, with gathered greens and radishes. Then Tauriel rose and her parents stood with her, and they bowed to each other in turns, swaying low to show their regard. They joined hands in a circle and danced along the creek to its origin, a rocky spring in a grassy little glade. There they rested through the night, cuddled warm together with the sound of clean water bubbling nearby. At dawn, her father called a bluejay and sent it to the Halls with the answer, yes. And for the next few months, the family slowly wandered eastward beneath the trees.

Twelve days in advance of the begetting day, Tauriel's mother disappeared before dawn. Her father shook his head at her when she asked, and Tauriel contained her impatience. After midnight she returned, running beside a deer, both laden down with bright-dyed fabrics and jewelry and new metal blades. "Gifts," she said to her daughter briskly. "Materials from your lord and king, and crafting by your family. We have raised you to your land, and not to company, but you will go before them in finery to be seen." Tauriel looked at them -- all barefooted and near enough to bare, as the weather was still warm and they preferred only their light woven blanket over them at night -- then met her mother's eye, who laughed. "It is a little foolish," she agreed. "But it will be easy for them to see your face and what you wear, and be longer before they can begin to know your heart. We need not oppress them to work immediately," and Tauriel laughed too. 

They spent the next days cutting and sewing, braiding and bickering and trying things on. Tauriel had always known her parents were beautiful, but when she saw them arrayed she thought of the night sky shimmering with aurora, and it left her stunned. She wondered if everyone in the King's Halls would look like that, and also why they would bother.

On the anniversary proper, they started moving at midnight, walking by dawn on well-trodden paths that wove among great and stately trees. From time to time an elf would approach and join them, greeting her parents by name and being introduced by name to Tauriel: Lassehen, Lind, Baraglin, Belleth, Legolas, Hallothon. Her parents walked in front, and the other elves trailed behind. At noon her mother began to sing, a long winding melody without words, and the strangers joined in harmony. Tauriel's heart beat faster, and without thinking she began to sway and skip, until in late afternoon she danced across a white stone bridge into Thranduil's keep.

He stood on a balcony above, as if he had been waiting for her. A crown of red leaves circled his silver brow, and the eyes under his dark brows smiled. "Welcome," he called, "welcome, welcome home."

The travelers stopped, though Tauriel could not be still, swaying from foot to foot. He descended along steep stairs carved into the stone wall, a silver robe swaying around his body, taller even than her father, taller than the stranger Legolas. He called to her parents by name, but walked to Tauriel directly, meeting her gaze and taking her hands. "I am Thranduil," he said, "and I see you are a dancer. Shall I call you Lilladess?"

Dancing woman. Thranduil's face was warm with delight, but Tauriel felt a sudden caution, of someone who would name her at first glance, as she swayed in a new white gown. "I am Tauriel," she said clearly, "Daughter of the forest."

Thranduil's eyes widened a little, and she wondered if she had somehow spoken ill in giving him her own name. But he bowed to her, and said, "I am very glad to meet you, Tauriel. Will you come into my halls, which are the home of your people, and also your own?"

She nodded, and for some reason she could not fathom, felt herself blush. He pulled her ahead of her parents and walked by her side as they entered the halls -- like great caverns all of stone, but carved into the likenesses of branches and leaves. More and more elves gathered around them, more than Tauriel had met before in her life. Her parents greeted each one by name, and Thranduil nodded from her side. At last they stopped by a wall, where Thranduil opened a door with a flourish -- Tauriel found it a bit startling -- and he gestured them inside. "Rest here as long as you like," he said, "we will feast in your honor tonight." He bent at the waist, straightened, and walked away without looking back, and the rest of the strangers bobbed along more slowly in his wake. Tauriel's father drew her into the chamber, and her mother closed the door behind them.

It did remind her of a cave, a sort of dream of one, with high windows letting in sunlight and rushes on the floor. There was a bed, high and deep with cushions and blankets and furs. There were cabinets like storage-boxes on their sides, with more doors. She could hear water rushing through narrow channels behind the walls, smell spices cooking nearby. Her father threw himself down backwards on the bed, and his wife and daughter piled on.

"Ada," Tauriel whispered, dazed. "Nana. Are these really my people? All of these...?" 

They held her, stroked her hair, whispered back, "Yennin, they would be, if you will have them." Her mother's sudden chuckle. "If you would not, you still belong to the forest, and to the great world, and to us."

Her father leaned up on one elbow, also smiling. "I am glad to see them," he said, "most of them, anyway. You will learn for yourself who you like and who you do not, for your own reasons. Thranduil loves you already, because you are one of his people, and he wishes you to love him in return. Two years he has asked of you, and you have given him yes for that. The rest is yet untold and seasons to come."

The last was something her father said often, and Tauriel sighed. "Sit up," said her mother. "We will want clean clothes for the feasting, and I would have you rebraid my hair."


	2. dinner and dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wild child's first night in civilization.

There was so much talk at the feast that Tauriel could hardly make out a word of it.

She sat at Thranduil's left hand, in a chair at a long table, with her mother and father on her other side. From time to time he would address her, asking if she liked this or that, and Tauriel would nod, speechless and nearly overwhelmed. Her parents seemed to know everyone, and endless strangers came to smile at her and speak with them, smiling at them. Tauriel felt strangely jealous, and despite the crowd and her family, oddly alone.

Past Thranduil was Legolas, one of the elves who had followed them in from the forest, and beyond him were scores of elves whose names she had been told and already forgotten. They all seemed to be talking at once, a susurrus of voices like wind in the trees. The food kept coming, brought out dish after dish -- venison roasted with nutmeats, a salad with seven kinds of greens and nine kinds of flowers, three different baked breads -- Tauriel's father had baked sometimes, in winter when a fire was enjoyable -- and now honeycomb served dripping with something thick and white. It smelled delicious, but Tauriel had already eaten more than she usually would in three days. She licked the white stuff off her fingers -- it was sweet, cream and roses along with the honey. She set it aside, wondering if she could somehow eat it later.

Music had played throughout the meal, with people rising and taking instruments for awhile, then settling back into their seats. When Tauriel's mother went to the musicians' corner and took up a drum, Tauriel nearly knocked her chair over in her haste to follow. She bowed to her mother, skirt trailing behind her, and began clapping her hands in a counter. Other elves joined in the polyrhythm, and Tauriel felt a new pleasure in it, so many musicians elaborating the same theme, so many instruments and voices. She stepped into dance again, not swaying but stamping, her soft new shoes quieter than she would have liked on the rush-lined floor.

Moments later, Thranduil rose and came to her, offering his hand. Tauriel took it uncertainly, but Thranduil matched her every move with grace and eerie ease. His boots were heavier, and she felt almost as if she played him like an instrument, leading his steps to make the sounds she liked. A small smile played at his mouth sometimes, and his eyes met hers whenever she looked him in the face. Mostly she preferred to watch her mother, her strong fingers playing across the drumhead, rolling trills along the metal edge. At a toss of Tauriel's head, her mother sped up the rhythm, and Tauriel dropped Thranduil's hand and skittered away, moving backwards in a flurry of steps that kicked the rushes to rattling. The drum went into a snapping frenzy, and Tauriel spun faster and faster, ending with a high leap like a shout. She stopped and wrapped her arms around her mother's neck, burying her face in her mother's hair.

She realized that might not be appropriate for a nearly-grown woman, and stood up just in time to see Thranduil bowing to them, and the other elves as well, graceful as candle-flames in a breeze. The hall had fallen silent. Tauriel bowed back to everyone, though her mother remained upright, one hand on her daughter's. "You brighten our halls," said the king. "It is so good to have you here, my lady Raina, my lady Tauriel," he turned back to the table, where Tauriel's father sat silent and still, "my good man Andaer."

"Your halls are beautiful, and your generosity boundless," said Tauriel's father smoothly. "The evening has been long and lovely." He rose and came to stand with his wife and child, mouth smiling, eyes slightly hooded. "My loves," he said to them, not quietly enough to seem private, "shall we retire for the night? For we are simple people," he addressed Thranduil again, "and more used to the song of nightjars than the glorious harmonies of so many of our own kind."

Thranduil bowed again, and said smoothly, "Of course; your chambers still await your pleasure. I would ask only that Tauriel walk with me briefly before she goes to her rest." It was not pronounced as a question, but her parents nodded. Thranduil took Tauriel's hand, and she allowed herself to be drawn away from her parents, out of the feasting-hall, and down a long corridor where eventually the ceiling fell away, and they were alone underneath the moon and the stars of late night.

"You dance beautifully, child," said Thranduil quietly, still walking, but placing both hands upon hers. Tauriel could think of nothing to say, so she nodded her thanks. "I thank you for gifting us with that. In return," he glanced at her sideways, catching her eyes, "you are invited to learn all the wisdom gathered in my kingdom, whatever arts you find suit you. Tonight there was music and food -- rather different from what one eats in the forest, I think." She heard him almost-laugh and liked it, and almost laughed along. "We have gardens with growing things from all over the world, and herbalists knowledgeable about their many characteristics. We have a great many weapons, for hunting and guarding and war. A library with histories and poetry and many kinds of lore. We are jewelers and crafters and cooks, soldiers and gatherers, singers and healers and makers of wine." He seemed to hesitate, but then spoke on: "And we have ways of living in this world, to know it and survive it and nurture it, as is the gift of our people. Will you stay here, daughter of the forest, after all?"

"I will," said Tauriel forcefully. Under the stars with one silver-haired king, she felt strong enough to face the crowds, to listen for meaning among the seething voices. She knew she would miss her parents; she felt certain she would not dwell for long in the cavernous rooms, as if it were always winter. But winter was coming, and she thought that two years only seemed so long because she was herself so very young. "Thranduil. You will be my king, and I will learn as best I can."

He did smile then, and one of his hands moved up along her arm, slid gently through her hair, and came to rest on Tauriel's cheek. He held her gaze again and answered, "I am glad."


	3. divisions; disclosures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tauriel learns a little about life in Thranduil's Halls.

Tauriel slept in her parents' embrace for an hour or so; then she awakened, and they talked long of little things -- trees and animals she would miss, the uses of napkins and knives. At dawn they stirred from the deep bed and the two older elves selected a few items from the heap of gifts -- some cloth, two knives, a set of arrowheads. "This is your time here," said Tauriel's mother, "and we must leave you to it. If you have need of us, only come, or send a message. You will be in our minds and hearts always."

Tauriel threw her arms around them. "As you are in mine," she said, almost unable to imagine being without them, knowing that she very soon would be. They kissed her, and led her back to the dining hall, having explained that food was collectively distributed there -- no more would Tauriel be directly involved in procuring or preparing every meal she ate. They broke their fast together on hot linden tea and bread studded with bright berries, then walked together to the gates, and Tauriel watched her parents disappear back into the forest.

The stone floor and soft shoes felt strange on her feet, and in a wild moment she nearly raced after them, but she put a hand on the carved wall and steadied herself. Two years had been her agreement; two minutes had not passed. She breathed slowly, making a mental catalogue of the scents: stone, and unfamiliar elves, and mushrooms ripening quite nearby; burning wood, and many she could not identify. Then one note seemed a little familiar, and she turned around to see the elf called Legolas approaching her.

He was much taller than herself or her parents, pale-haired, and he smelled a little like Thranduil too. He met her eyes and stopped a pace further away than arm's reach, nodded to her and said, "Tauriel, I bid you good morning. My father the king asks if you would have me as your escort for the day, to help you become familiar with our home." His face remained blankly polite, but he hesitated briefly before adding, "I have never lived for long in the forest. I imagine our ways must seem strange to you, as yours would be unfamiliar to me."

Tauriel nodded. She thought he was clothed heavily for the weather, with boots and leggings and a shirt with a vest over it, and she could smell the fur of some large animal on him. "I cannot even begin imagining," she admitted. "Can you show me the simplest things first? Where food is gathered, where water runs?"

Legolas's brow furrowed slightly, but he nodded and took her hand. It seemed the simple things were not simple at all. Water came from several springs, one which ran hot and rich with minerals and was piped to particular chambers for bathing, another being filtered through gravel-beds before becoming potable. The river carried away overflow and waste, but some was filtered further first, and some fed down to greenhouses and stocked fishponds. The greenhouses and fishponds supplied some of the food, but more was gathered afield or hunted, and there were a few cultivated crops beyond the halls. Then there was trade with the Men settled downriver, in particular for imported fruits and wines.

He gave Tauriel an orange, and managed not to laugh when she bit into the bitter skin. She did not really mind the taste, though the sweet inside was a revelation. "It must take much learning," she declared. "But that is what I was promised, and I will have it from the rind to the seed."

Legolas paused with his hand halfway to his mouth. "Bravely put," he said, "and I wish you well with it." He put down the slice of orange he was holding, "Tauriel," he said plainly, "Some of your lessons here may be harsh, and some frightening. I would offer to help you, if you should find any need."

She found the comment itself discomfiting, though she had no reason to expect Thranduil's halls to always be easy, and certainly she had been frightened before. But it was good to know someone closer than her parents chose to look upon her kindly. "Warn me," she said immediately, "of something you think I would fear?"

Legolas huffed a sigh, and considered. "My lord father," he said slowly, "is very old, and has lived through many times of struggle and grief. My mother died in one of them, and he has sworn to remain in Middle-Earth and protect our forest for as long as his strength may last, denying himself the peace of sailing West. He... he has scars, which can be frightening, and he would have us his people become as strong as himself."

Tauriel regarded him in confusion. "My Nana fought a dragon at Thranduil's side," she answered, "and lost an eye and a hand. What is frightening about a scar?"

Legolas looked back in equal confusion, then barked a short and surprisingly bitter laugh. "I saw your Nana," he said, "and I think perhaps she is braver than my lord. I should not pretend I have your measure, either; I beg your pardon, Tauriel."

"You spoke in kindness," she answered him, "and I am glad to have heard you. So I learn there is sweetness here in these halls, between whatever rind and seed." She took another bite, and Legolas smiled back.


	4. dominance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An evening with the King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's other story here, but the delicate might take warning that the E rating arrives.

There was no feasting that night, for which Tauriel was glad. She and Legolas shared the storeroom's fruit -- pomegranates and persimmons, and the autumn's newly-ripened apples. Then Legolas spent some time helping orient among the halls, and particularly to find her own room. It seemed enormous and empty without her parents there.

"This space is yours while you live here," he said. "No one will enter except at your invitation." He seemed curiously emphatic, so Tauriel concluded he was telling her to stay out of other people's, and nodded. But he added, "Thranduil our king requests your presence an hour before midnight, in the chamber called the Quiet Water."

"Where is that?" she asked, as puzzled by the name as the request. Legolas led her down a flight of stairs and took an oil lamp from the wall to light their way through a hallway of bare stone below the ground. The chamber was small, with a plain stone door, tapestried walls, and, indeed, a pool in the middle, through which water moved slowly and very softly. "What would the king have of me here?"

Legolas blushed to his ear-tips. "A lesson for you," he said, "in a strength of a kind, and sad memory." She raised an inquiring eyebrow, but Legolas said no more, returning with the lamp to the stairs. When they had reached the level with her chamber, he bowed and bade her a good evening, and left.

Tauriel wandered outside. The sky had grown dark and the wind picked up; leaves were falling, still soft underfoot. At length she returned to her huge room -- a candle and striker had been placed just outside it, and within was an oil lamp. She sorted through her range of new clothes -- three robes, four shirts, two sets of leggings, a long feather cloak and a short one and a hood -- what was she supposed to wear, to meet a king at night? Probably not the dress she had worn to the feast, and probably not the old woolen tunic and her father's breeches she had idly put on in the morning. Legolas had not said anything about clothes. Tauriel wished for her parents again, and put on the simplest robe, an unadorned grey which reminded her of her Ada's eyes. Over it went her knife and its belt, and she left her feet bare. It might not be appropriate, but at least it was clean. She snuffed the lamp and went down to the chamber in the dark.

Being underground in the Halls was disquieting, in a way natural caves were not; at least though she had never been so deep in them. Lifeless earth distanced her from stars and trees, but the darkness had a weight of its own, and though the way was easy she wished she had her candle or the lamp. The Quiet Water's door stood open, though, and a little light flickered from within, and Tauriel went to it gratefully.

Thranduil stood alone beside the pool. He was clothed as simply as Tauriel, though his robe glittered silver. and silver rings were on his hands and a bright knotted crown in his hair. She noticed he had no knife.

For a long moment neither of them spoke, then Thranduil said smoothly, "Daughter of the forest, thank you for attending to my summons."

"My king," she said uncertainly. "Why do you summon me?"

He did not answer directly. "Take off your knife, and lay it here," he said, gesturing towards his own feet. She knelt in confusion to do so, and he added, "also your garments."

Tauriel almost laughed; perhaps she could have come in her father's breeches just as well. But she did as she was bidden, stood naked and unarmed with Thranduil in arm's reach. He was tall, and she was not; she did not come up to his collarbone, and tipped her head back to meet his gaze. Then his face changed.

His left eye dulled and rolled, and the smooth skin of his cheek seemed to tear itself apart. The structures underneath were red and raw, pricked through with white edges of tooth and bone. He made a low, hissing sound, though his right eye regarded Tauriel as calmly as ever.

Confused, she asked, "Do your scars still pain you? My Nana's eye is ever darkened; she cannot see through it. Her arm is shriveled also to the bone, but she says it has not hurt since I was born, so she can show her markings or not as she chooses."

Thranduil's right eye blinked, and slowly his left one brightened again, and the flawless appearance of his face was restored. "Raina's daughter," he said, almost grimly. "I did not know your mother was so wounded, though we fought together in the north."

Tauriel nodded, then asked again, "Thranduil, are you in pain?" She wondered if she were being tested for a healer, and if she should simply tell him she had little skill.

But he shook his head. "No, no." He shook his shoulders too, settling himself more upright, and stepped a handsbreadth closer, seeming taller than ever. "Do your mother's tales of dragons frighten you?" His voice was low.

"Of course," she said, "If I must fight one, I would wish for her courage, her strength and skills." Perhaps he was sounding her out for a warrior; her heart leapt.

But Thranduil shook his head. "You will never meet a dragon while I can save my people from such evil," he said evenly. "There are dangers from which the wise would flee. Raina and I have faced them, but neither the world nor we are better for it." He shook his head again. "Do you know the tale of Celebrian?"

"A queen...?" Tauriel hazarded. She was not very knowledgeable of histories, but was at least fairly sure Celebrian was not the name of an elf she had met in Thranduil's halls.

The king nodded. "She reigned in Rivendell; her husband rules there still, and there her children dwell." He took a deep breath. "She herself sailed to Valinor. She was wounded and captured and tormented by orcs, and however her wounds healed, she could never hide her scars, nor take pleasure in any thing in Middle-earth." He watched Tauriel keenly, with both his eyes. "They stripped her naked and disarmed her, they touched every part of her body, and they caused her tremendous pain. She lived, but they had broken her. Fear consumed her even in her freedom, and she walks in our lands no more."

Naked and disarmed. "Did you mean," she asked slowly, "to see if you could frighten me?"

Thranduil shook his head. "No," he said softly, "I am certain I can, though perhaps not so easily as I thought. I mean to see," he took a long breath, "if I can teach you to survive. If you can learn to live though touched or pained. If you can become stronger and braver than that sad queen," he almost sighed, "and stand longer against evil in our beautiful, damaged world."

"I am no queen and have fought no orcs," said Tauriel, "but I will stand as well as I can."

Thranduil smiled, though little of it came to his eyes. "Then kneel before me again," he said, "and give me your knife."

Tauriel obeyed. While she held up the antler-handled, flint-bladed knife she had knapped herself, Thranduil slowly unknotted the ties that bound his own robe. As she watched, he let it fall. Aside from his jewels, he was as naked as she was, and his cock stood up just above her head, damp at its tip. His heat and scent, no longer masked behind silver brocade, struck the breath from her lungs. Her parents in finery had resembled an aurora on the sky, but Thranduil without his burned like a summer sun through thunderclouds.

He took the knife from her hand and pressed it to her neck. She felt the blade's serrations prick her skin. "Take me in your mouth," he said, and bent one knee, dropping his cock towards her face. "Suck."

Tauriel felt herself flush and tremble, but she told herself fiercely of courage. This was her king, not the enemy. She would not be harmed, or if she was, at least it would be by her blade and not her fear. As if reading her mind, Thranduil tilted the knife upon her skin so it scratched, and she leaned forwards and closed her mouth around him.

For a long moment they stayed thus, very still. Then Thranduil wound his free hand around one of Tauriel's braids, pulling her closer. Reflexively she swallowed, then choked, then remembered herself and sucked. His cock was hot and hard, bittersweet and exotic as her first bite of orange rind. Thranduil groaned, and she felt the warm metal of his rings curling against her ear. Her own body seemed to catch fire from there, simultaneously in her ears and her groin, and she breathed out heavily and then sucked him in again.

Tauriel felt the knife fall a bit, as if Thranduil's fingers clenched, and in that moment she reached. She gripped the blunt bolster where flint joined antler, and as she took it she set her teeth upon Thranduil's cock. She shifted them both, biting into his thin skin as she twisted the blade away from her throat. Their fingers touched as she wrenched the knife away, and she set it between Thranduil's thigh and his ballsac, and through it she felt his pulse pound.

Thranduil's groan changed into a gasp that was almost a scream, and he came suddenly and shockingly. The hand in Tauriel's hair still clung, and she choked again, his spending spilling hot from her mouth. She scraped the knife across his flesh, less than a fingerswidth, then drew it back as the king staggered; she did not really want to cut him. His hand fell from her hair to her shoulders, and she moved cautiously back, rising to her feet.

Thranduil still clung to her, tall even as he fell to his knees, his long arms still reaching her easily. His eyes were wide and wild; his mouth a little open. "I am not broken," said Tauriel raggedly, holding the knife between them. "I am not afraid."

She almost saw the scars on his flushed skin, not ripped or ragged, but silvery tracings like thin ice over water. "You are braver than a queen," said Thranduil. "Would you sit with me, a little while?" Tauriel sat, slowly, still holding her knife. Thranduil drew his own silver robe around her, then sat by her side quietly, still naked himself, his spending wet and pale on the stone floor. "You may wash, or drink the water; it is sweet," he said, almost apologetically. She reached over to scoop up a handful. It was warm but very clear, and she drank until she tasted only its minerals.

She had not been hurt, she decided. It was only that it had been unfamiliar. But sitting beside another elf was familiar enough, even if he was naked and a king. Without asking, she took Thranduil's ringed hand, and his long fingers tightened around hers. When she felt the dawn approaching, she said, "I am weary; I would return to my room," and only then did Thranduil let go. He bundled up her grey robe, but when she reached to push off the silver one, he stopped her hands.

"Please keep that, as a gift," he said, "a token... for your courage." He still sounded breathless, and almost sad. So Tauriel left it wrapped around her shoulders, and it trailed behind her down the dark corridor and up the stairs, and through the door into her own empty room.


	5. developments

Winter came and Thranduil's people celebrated long nights and stars seen through bare branches. Tauriel liked dancing better than most, but she was not skilled at it; she did not enjoy memorizing sequences of patterns and partners, nor resist when the music called her to some new step or spin. She proved an indifferent cook, herself just as happy to tear meat with her teeth and eat leaves and berries raw. But she was already good at tracking and hunting, and at gathering nourishment from the fallow forest; she could find a squirrel's caches, or steal from a bear's without disturbing its sleep. And when Baraglin put a short staff into her hands and told her how to raise it, she learned that she loved to fight.

She had only wrestled bare-handed with her parents; weapons were tools for killing beasts. But in the songs they sang over firelight were old tales in which elves shot orcs with bows and arrows, or carried swords into battle. She did not like the rumors of war, or of creatures fell and evil, or brothers turned against one another in bitterness and anger. But lifting a sword herself was thrilling, and landing a solid blow felt like a joyous shout. The first time she knocked Legolas off his feet she gasped -- but when he tumbled back and stood up laughing, her laughter in response was wild and hot. After that she never wanted for teachers or partners in practice. She took her meals with others who loved battle and chivalry, and listened to their stories and imagined herself among their ranks.

With a handful of those colleagues she ventured throughout the forest, learning Mirkwood's reach and Thranduil's borders. They found wild wargs and killed them, and once goaded a stone-troll away from its hiding-place to be slain by the rising sun. They took its treasure -- an astonishing hoard of jewelry and bright metal, even coins of Men and dwarves; Tauriel was given a long knife from the hoard with some ceremony. She also hunted meat, being more fond of eating it than most. When she had killed a half-dozen hares in their dazzling winter white, she tanned them in secret and sewed three warm hoods.

In any other year, such a project would have been part of her family's celebration of the Longest Night, and she and her parents would have worn them until the snows melted in spring. This time she made them despite the uncomfortable awareness that she was unlikely to see her mother and father, let alone to spend a night sharing songs with them. When the Longest Night came, Thranduil mounted an elk and led his people dancing through the snow; at dawn they returned to the Halls and climbed to the rooftops to bask in the sun. Many gifts were given, and Tauriel received a great number, from elves she knew and elves she did not -- a dagger, a glaive, and a set of hair-sticks from strangers, a bottle of wine from Thranduil, a jar of raspberry preserves from Lind. There seemed to be no particular symmetry between givers and recipients, and she distributed the hoods with a purposeful randomness: one to Lassehen and one to Legolas, and one to a lady she did not know, but whose dark skin, black hair, and grey eyes struck her as a pretty contrast to the furs. Each one thanked her and clasped her hands, and she missed her parents' arms around her.

By spring her feelings had grown from longing to loneliness. She was surrounded by people more hours than not, but none of them knew Tauriel as she was used to being known. She did not speak of it until Thranduil noticed and asked, early one morning when they crossed paths near the dovecote; he bowed first and stood out of arm's reach while they spoke. When she had told him, he asked if she would like to visit her family, taking with her a scouting group -- they could update the kingdom's maps, he said. She felt her face grow bright as she told him yes, and when he put out a hand, she took it in hers. She might have kissed his fingers, she was so glad and grateful, but he pulled away too soon, though his smile warmed her.

They left three days later, a handful of elves walking west, carrying ink and paper and compasses as well as hunters' tools. Lassehen was the eldest, a small quick woman who never stopped singing. For the first few weeks she gave them the history of the places they travelled, the trees that had grown since last she had visited and the ways the creeks had changed. Twice she recited tales of battles fought where they stood, naming each of the dead; once she pulled back branches to reveal the remains of an abandoned house, where once travelers had stopped to rest as they crossed the Wood. "But fewer and fewer travel through," she said. "Our King does not love strangers whose passage disturbs the wood. Mortal folk are careless with fire and footfalls, and have little love for the land. This is our place to guard and tend. Evil is never gone for long enough," she said, and looked sad.

Her words were prophetic. A week's walk later they were in lands Tauriel knew best, and she took over the lead and the tales, conscious of her ignorance and her youth. They met her favorite family of bears, saw the grove where the sweetest cherries grew in blossom, and swam in the little pond that held her first memories of water. But two days later they came to a pass where the trees had never come into leaf, and ice hung heavy and unseasonable from the boughs. "This is wrong," said Tauriel, stopping in her tracks, "this should not be here, this is not as it was...." and Lassehen came forth and took her hand.

"This is evil," said the elder, and the elves around her nodded and touched their weapons. "We will fight it," she said, and Tauriel nodded too as the ice touched her heart.


	6. drake

They stalked on through ice and snow, terrible to see in the bright sunshine of spring. Nothing grew and the beasts had fled. Elves do not feel cold as such, but Tauriel shivered, and wished she had kept the fur hoods.

At dusk a day later, they crested a hill and looked down upon a battle. The sun's long shadows were broken by licking flames, each as high as a tall tree, rounded in a rough circle in the valley. At its center crouched a great wyrm. It was no natural creature of the forest, but looked like something forged from ice and iron, with scales and many-jointed legs and wings that looked too small to carry such a monster aloft. Its head was shaped like a wolf's, but as long and broad as a wolf entire, with fangs outsized even for that. Its eyes were green and narrow, and the flames reflected green off its sides. It opened its jaws and blew out a wind like all of winter with a sound like a broken bell. The fires around it swayed, and some distance away a tree cracked apart and fell. A single figure danced before it, hands lifting and falling, then rising again.

"Ada!" cried Tauriel. Her father did not hear her, or in any case did not respond. But the flames spread upwards as he gestured, as red as the setting sun, and the worm turned its head away. "They're fighting," she said, unnecessarily, as the elves beside her looked on in horror. "Come, we must help him."

"Help how?" asked Veryan. Tauriel did not know him well, but she felt hatred as she rounded upon him. "Should we bring him firewood?"

Tauriel had no answer. She knew this was not her father's magic -- he was young, and not so much wiser than herself. Her mother must have lit these flames, and more, her Nana must be lost for Ada to be left to tend them as best he could. She looked around at her traveling companions, saw Lassehen's mouth in a hard line. "Fired wood," said the old elf, as if correcting Veryan's pronunciation. "Ironwood or locust -- it may be sturdy enough. Who has a two-edged knife? Tauriel, yours is the strongest bow."

Tauriel glanced at her weapon -- it was the biggest bow she could pull, and she had selected it not so purely for hunting as for practice. The other elves had scattered, searching the inner slope for a fortunate hardened branch, except for Alya who was stripping the handle from her dagger. Below them, Andaer and the monster continued their struggle, and the wind roared now with heat and then ice-cold. Tauriel watched transfixed until Lassehen touched her shoulder and held out a single great, rough arrow. It had no fletching, and its point was the dagger's blade.

"Not from here," said Tauriel, as the problem became simple in her mind. "There's too much wind. I should find the lee of it in the land, and shoot from there."

The others nodded, and Tauriel led them along the slopes. She carried the arrow in her arms, turning it over between her hands, trying to get a sense for its flight -- it was heavy and stiff, and the dagger-blade very sharp, unlike any she had shot before. Twice she stopped and nocked it, and once she pulled and sighted, but its path was uncertain and each time she set down her weapon. Night had fallen, and it would have been dark but for the high flames and the subtle green sheen from the worm. Another time she raised her bow, and this time everything was right: she pulled, sighted, and released in a breath. The arrow flew through the flames and struck into one ice-green eye. The monster shrieked, a carillon shattering apart, then turned and turned in on itself. The earth around it cracked like ice, and the beast fled beneath it. The hillsides slid down like water.

Tauriel lost her footing and fell, then scrambled up again to run, calling again "Ada! Ada!" Her father was on his knees, a small figure folded beneath the flames he had tended. She reached him on the unsteady earth and threw her arms around him, and they clung together as ice shattered and fire fell to ash.

Their companions came around them and built a camp, bringing food and water and laying out blankets, then singing softly in turns. The smoke and steam cleared from the sky, leaving the light of spring stars.


	7. departure, or death

Tauriel slept in her father's arms. She was exhausted and triumphant, and in some tiny corner of her heart, felt betrayed. When she woke she saw her father gazing into her face, and the tracks of tears beneath his hollow eyes. They clung to each other, and Andaer let go first.

The sun was well up and the day was warm. A kind of vernal pool had appeared below them, surrounded by the burnt-out trunks of trees, and a flock of ducks settled there quacking. The other elves were clustered at its edge and feeding them lembas. When Tauriel sat up, Veryan hurried over, and offered the waybread to her and her father.

Tauriel ate hungrily, but her father scarcely touched his share, preferring to press morsels into his child's mouth. The others came and sat around them, speaking softly to one another of ink and paper and clouds. When Tauriel was sated, Andaer led her down to the water's edge, and hesitantly they both knelt and drank. It tasted of springtime and fire, and there was a cool green glow to its depth.

"Will you come back with us to Thranduil's halls?" asked Lassehen, leaning over, and Tauriel was fiercely glad that she did not have to ask that question herself. But Andaer's green gaze held her own long before he replied.

"Yennin, do you need me?" he asked, as if Tauriel had spoken. She took his hand, felt the fine tremble in his fingers.

"Ada, I have missed you," she said at last. "I came to find you, and Nana as well. And what I found is, is --" her voice broke and stumbled, and her father and elder began to murmur before she recovered, "-- is heroic." She swallowed hard. "I know there is evil, and that it comes to our woods betimes. I have slain wargs and seen the track of an orc, in this one year gone by. But I wish that my time had been spent differently, that I would have been with you when this creature came," and her voice broke because she was crying.

"Nay, my child," he answered, pulling her into his arms, and she felt how bony and weak his grip had become. "For if you had been with us, you might have been slain, or fallen at your mother's side, and never come with help for me. The birds fled first, I could not send --" and he was weeping too, their tears falling upon one another's face.

"And yet we came," said Lassehen, her voice a balm. "It was Tauriel's notion to seek, and her shot that slew the enemy. Our wood is safer for your fight, and for her choices too."

"And my mother's death," said Tauriel tonelessly, because she was afraid nobody else would say it at all.

"For our loss of Raina," said Lassehen clearly. There was a moment's silence, and then all the elves joined in to a high, mourning keen. It might have been mere formality for some of them, who had only met Tauriel's mother once or twice in Thranduil's halls. But Andaer's voice and their daughter's rose like wolves howling, and the song echoed through the mountains around. When they quieted, birds were singing in the valley again, and a bluejay repeated the mourning notes.

"I don't want to go to Thranduil," said Andaer, as if there had been no other conversation. "I don't want anything of kings, nor any more of Middle-Earth. I want my wife," he added, plaintive as a child. "I know she is waiting for me in the West."

Tauriel said nothing, torn inside -- she was promised to Thranduil for another year; she missed her mother, and yet still loved the world.

"Then shall the boatman bear thee," said Lassehen at length. Tauriel looked up at the old elf, beseeching for she knew not what, and Lassehen nodded fractionally. "We will walk with you to Mirkwood's end," she said, "and give you over to starlight there."

Andaer waited until Tauriel looked back to him before he nodded. Lassehen gave them her hands as they rose, and the other elves gathered around them. Someone sketched the new pool as they rounded its north side, and someone else wrote a history of the worm, asking Andaer for details from time to time. Tauriel only half-heard any of it. Her father's hand was in hers, as familiar as her own, and every step they took pushed them apart. So they went day after day, first among trees and then along a hard, stone-paved road that cut straight west.

The night they reached the gate, the elves made a festive camp. A wine-bottle was opened, and reed-flutes newly cut. Andaer bowed to his daughter, and they danced together, hour after hour, until Andaer finally smiled. Tauriel leapt upon him with a fierce joy and they wrestled and laughed, the others joining in. When they were all exhausted, Tauriel lay upon her father, and he whispered, "You are grown strong, my child, and I am glad and proud. There is nothing I have done in life that was better than to be Ada to you."

"There is no one I have loved better, nor been gladder for," she whispered back, and for a moment her heart was full. But then she was sad again, and added, "I know Nana does not wait for me, although I miss her still."

"I think she does not," Andaer agreed. "I think she is glad for your life, and your growth, and would be gladder to wait for long years uncounted than to see you before your time. And I am blessed," he held Tauriel's gaze, "that you saved me and our forest from the cold-drake, and that I have held your hands again. You have grown strong and bold, and by your hands I did not die, but lived to sail."

He came to his feet, and pulled his daughter after, though Tauriel was sad and weary still. He led her through the forest gate and to the open lands beyond. Above them shone the infinite stars, such as Tauriel had never seen in the forest, so many that no part of the sky was in darkness, but all ablaze with many-colored lights. "This is the starlight of forever," he said, as Tauriel looked upwards in shock, "and the same stars will shine on you here as on us in the West." The world fell away around them, the colors of the stars blending into white. Tauriel drew a breath in pure joy, and felt the tears drying from her face.

"It is so beautiful," she said to her father, and felt his hand hold tighter to hers.

"We were made to love the starlight best," Andaer said. "And I would that you find all kinds of love in your life. You have known the love of your parents, and perhaps your kin and king, and it gladdens me now to see you feel the love of stars. But I wish more for you -- the love of the trees and the land in their seasons, of allies in war and partners in dance, collaborators in work and thought, and the pleasures of touching and holding another in love. Even," he smiled down upon her, "if you are so blessed, the joys of children," so that she had to smile at him.

"I was blessed to be your child," she answered fervently, and added in a rush, "and the stars shine upon the hour of our parting." Andaer lifted Tauriel in his arms, and she buried her face in his hair. He smelled like ashes and spring rain. When she pushed away to her own feet he let her go, and she went to her knees as he turned and walked away. When the sun had risen, the company of elves found her and led her back through the forest gates. Together they walked along the stone road, beneath the heavy, blossoming trees of spring.


	8. dilemma

Lassehen sent a bird ahead, and Tauriel was received as a hero in Thranduil's halls. A formal mourning was made for her parents, candles lit and songs sung of their deeds. Tauriel learned a great many things about Raina and Andaer, especially her mother's youth in the First Age, and incidentally about dragons and warfare and the old languge Quenya. She told her own stories as well -- silly, simple things they sounded to her, about weather and animals and trees. But these too were made into songs, and when they were sung back to her, their beauty struck her silent.

She did not weep, though many other elves did. Tauriel's heart seemed suspended in a moment of starlight, watching her father walk away. Over and over she wished he had turned back, however briefly, so that once more she could have seen his eyes -- but what difference could it have made? His life had ended with his wife's, or at least with the completion of the battle they had begun together. Tauriel's life went on, in Thranduil's halls as she had agreed. The king set forth new tactics and plans, to guard their forest from evil and harm. The road would be watched constantly, beasts and birds begged for reports of all they saw or heard, and elves dispatched in every season to scour their land against any threat.

Tauriel returned to the benighted valley early in the summer. Four seasoned warriors went with her, and without ceremony, deferred to her judgment and direction. Despite herself, she found that put her at ease; she knew this place in a way no other could. A cold pool remained where the drake had vanished, dark and still, with no stream in and no outlet. They labored hard, digging a ditch to release the water, and lay stones to coax a fresh flow from a nearby spring. When next the moon rose full, the pond was alive with the voices of frogs, and dragonflies danced among new reeds at its surface. Tauriel waded in, the water never deeper than her thighs, and felt hard stone beneath her feet. This would never again be the landscape of her childhood, but it had become part of the natural wood once more. When the elves departed, they left a stone inscribed with her parents' names by the bank, and the burned-out woods around were alive with mushrooms, bluebirds, and flickers.

The group was not particularly feted upon their return, being but one of many. The thorough search had found out wargs' dens and moths that spread darkness like ink, and a many-eyed beast in a river had killed another elf before being slain itself. Thranduil himself was away, riding the forest's borders on an elk and laying enchantments around them like a wall. Tauriel helped gather the summer's harvest, then hunted meat through the fall, and the elves lay in stores as if for a future of famine. But when Thranduil returned he declared a feast by the light of the full cold moon.

Mirkwood's people drummed and howled, dancing around a bonfire that made a hot summer night against the snow. They made vows to animals, to rocks and trees and waterfalls, protective and devoted. They sang to one another, promising to share strength and skill and observation. The world would change, as elves willed it or not; yet by elves' will it would be kept as bright and safe as a world could be, and seen and remembered even long after that. They gorged and drank themselves half-mad on wine, savoring their survival and preparing for an unending fight ahead.

Tauriel danced until her limbs were taut and burning, then ran into the darkness and fell to her knees, then down to her face. Ice pricked her sweaty skin and a harsh winter wind lifted her loose hair. For a long while she lay silent, savoring the chill. Then she rolled on her back to see the moon, but a face blocked her view: Thranduil knelt beside her, silent as a star.

"My lord," she began, as awkward as the day she arrived, but she was drunk and exhausted and her voice spun on as if without her, "you welcomed me as a dancer. See now, I have danced all that I could. I hope you are well pleased."

The king said back, "I hope you are well?"

Tauriel squirmed. "I am alive and fighting, most of the time..." Thranduil waited, and at length she looked up at the stars through the branches. "I am sadder than I thought I could be," she said. "My mother died fighting, and I miss her? -- but she had told me she often fought close to death, and expected that one day she would not survive a battle. But my father," her voice caught, "I watched him walk away into starlight. I never saw stars like that before, and I loved them. My father shone as bright as any of them, and he didn't even turn to look back at me as he left." She heard her voice go steady as she spoke, and her heart go a little cold. "It might have been as well for me to perish with them. For now I love no one, and there is no one here who loves me."

"You and I walk a different road," Thranduil said. "My wife perished long ago, and I hear her voice still, calling to me with love, calling me to the sea and the crossing and the peace meant for us to have after. But we were at war and I remained in battle -- perhaps her death would not be in vain, if we won. And when we had the victory, the children came out from hiding, and Legolas was so small -- four years old with his hair all flyaway, like a little bird. I told him his mother was lost, and he clung to me, so what could I do but cling back? Since then, there are so many things I have found to cherish and care for, and despite my call to the west, I do not go. I miss my wife, and perhaps my heart will never be whole while I remain. But you do me a disservice," his face brightened like starlight with a small and gentle smile, "if you think you are not loved."

"You love me?" Tauriel demanded. Thranduil nodded, still smiling. "Then can you help me?"

"To live with grief?" he asked, and she nodded back. She knew, she had been told, that there was no love in the world like that between husband and wife. But her heart ached like her exhausted legs, and she wished that it would stop; the only thing she wanted more was her mother and father again. But Thranduil went on, "Or to know that you are still beloved here in Middle-Earth?"

"I don't know," she answered, startled. "I never knew how hard it is to lose parents; nobody ever speaks of it. I don't know what I need. Fighting seems to help -- I am doing their work then. And it felt good to dance until it hurt." She felt defiant, saying that last -- nobody ever spoke of doing that, either.

But Thranduil was saying "Yes, it would, I understand," and reached for Tauriel's hand. She gave it to him, his long palm cradling hers. His other hand stroked her from wrist to nails and she shivered. "I can try hurting you," he said quietly, "and to touch you as well with love and for pleasure. I have found those things help me...." his voice trailed off, then resumed, "and have toughened me as well. I love this forest and the people in it, and will not leave it or them or you while there is breath in me to remain." His voice had turned fervent, and he clasped her hand between both of his. "Do you wish us to try these together, Tauriel-too-tired-to-dance? Or would you rather I leave you in the snow, and hope you find your own way through grief by starlight?"

She pushed herself to stand, pulled Thranduil to stand beside her. "I'm tired and grieving and lonely," she told him. "Please, yes, let us try for something else."


	9. depths

"Have you wept for your parents?" Thranduil asked, as he led Tauriel through darkness to the Halls.

She had to consider it. "No," she said finally. "I shed tears when I found my father, but not since, and not when he left. Not even," she drew a breath, "when I felled the great cat -- did you see the skin I brought? She was not old, but an evil growth had taken half her mind and she was in great pain. I killed her quickly, and have been tanning her skin and drying her bones. The rest I thought might be corrupted and unsafe. But although I felt pity for her and sorrow, and worry for the effects on those in our land, I did not cry aloud. My mouth went tight and my chest, but no more than that."

"Mmm." Thranduil let go of her hand as they reached corridors she had never explored, walls polished like gemstones and living carpets of moss beneath their feet. They stopped at a door, tall and narrow with an arched top, and it opened at Thranduil's gesture.

The room behind was opulent, the luxuries Tauriel had sometimes seen in the Halls collected and concentrated in a small, high-lofted space. Lamps glowed along the floor and in niches up the walls; carved wood and stone made steps and seats and balconies overhead. It was not very tidy -- chests overflowed with clothing and weaponry and jewels, and wine-bottles empty and full were scattered about the floor. Towards the back of the room there was a wide, shallow hollow in the floor, clearly a bed, heaped with cushions and furs and rumpled blankets. Tauriel regarded it as she might look upon the den of an unfamiliar animal, and nodded.

"Will you come to my bed?" Thranduil asked her, and she turned to meet his eyes. "Will you trust me with your pain, your sorrow, your body, and -- I deeply hope -- your pleasure, your relief, and your joy?"

"I have lived as yours for over year already," Tauriel answered, "and am promised to you for almost another year to come. I believe you to be wise, and kind, and -- to care, you said to love? So yes, I do trust you. Please help me," she added. She could feel the tears inside herself, nowhere near her eyes; they sat low in her belly, endlessly churning, as she had heard of the waves of the ocean. "Will you make me weep?"

Thranduil's voice was deeper and slow as he said, "So I intend." The door closed at another gesture, and a small fountain sprang to life beside the bed, water bubbling over glass and gemstones. He came close to her, so Tauriel could feel his breath on her hair and his body's warmth on her skin. "Raise your arms," he said, and she complied.

He stripped her naked. It took some time; he moved with deliberation, and paused to look closely at each new bit of skin bared. His breath slowed and grew a little rough; it remained warm, but her skin prickled beneath that touch of air. Her clothes and weapons and decorations were dropped nearby without ceremony, in a heap. When she stood entirely bare, he asked, "Are you thirsty, or hungry, or feeling any other bodily needs? For this may not be quick, and I would not have you suffering unintended."

Tauriel distrusted that last phrase, but she felt well enough, albeit still weary and perhaps a little drunk. "Do you love me?" she asked, instead of answering, and Thranduil nodded. "And you mean me only well?" He nodded again. "Then I entrust myself to you. I want for nothing, except to cease my grief."

"It will not cease," said Thranduil seriously, "only be expressed, and I hope then easier to bear."

"Good enough," said Tauriel. At that, Thranduil placed a hand on her head, and pushed her down low. She sank to her knees, eye-level with his cock again -- as before, it lifted towards her face; she could see it through the thin fabric of his robe. She considered taking it into her mouth again, but sooner than the thought was formed his body lay over her and she fell backwards, loose-limbed, into the great soft piles of the bed.

Thranduil's weight pressed her all over for a moment, cock hard and hot behind silk upon her belly. Then he reared up, weight in his calves, pinning her thighs a little apart. He reached this way and that, seizing upon scarves and ribbons and chains among the bedclothes. These he fastened around her limbs, behind her back, and cradling her head. She allowed it, not uncomfortable at all, only a little stretched. Finally, a light cloth was laid over her eyes, and Thranduil asked, "Will you give up your sight for a little while? You may see your own heart better without distraction from your eyes."

Her heart beat faster, nearing fear, but she summoned her bravery and replied, "I believe you, Thranduil king." He sighed at that, and knotted the cloth just in front of her ear. In that darkness every other sensation -- the sounds of the fountain, the scent of the king -- were magnified in her mind until she reeled, thrashing on her back in the bed. Thranduil reached behind her shoulders and pulled her back to kneeling, drawing the bindings taut; she trembled in the hold of silver, silk, and skin.

"Now I will give you pain," Thranduil whispered in her ear, "until your warrior's defiance is broken, and you cry as your broken heart deserves."

The first blow was his hand across her cheek, and Tauriel snarled. She would have bitten him if she could see him, but she was blind, and could only grind her teeth in frustration. Thranduil moved behind her, no longer touching; she heard his breath and his footsteps and some unplaceable sounds. Then something stung her shoulder and Tauriel gasped. When she inhaled again it bit into the side of her neck, and then the blows came quickly: a rain of fire, burning and pouring down her back.

She screamed in outrage and struggled, but Thranduil had bound her securely. He continued to strike, hitting her rump and the backs of her thighs, then their insides. A lash touched her sex like a lightning bolt, and a moment later she was standing -- the chains on her legs had broken, and the ones on her arms were slack. She twisted one way and another, still blind but seeking. Then Thranduil's hands came to her shoulders and held her still. He pushed her down slowly, first to her knees, then to her belly. His weight came down on her back, prickling where her skin had been struck, and he spoke in her ear: "So did your mother feel, when the drake delivered her death."

Tauriel broke. She was no longer screaming, but sobbing; strengthless in her grief. "I wasn't there," she gasped, "I wasn't there and I didn't help her, she died while I knew nothing, while I walked safe...."

"But you were safe," Thranduil whispered, low and close, "and I am sure she died glad of that." Tauriel cried harder, and Thranduil's hands came to her face, touching her tears. "You and your father and your friends finished her work. So the Greenwood is safe, where your mother bore you and loved you. You are alive and safe with me, in the land I am sworn to protect."

She cried for some long time as Thranduil held her, silent and stroking her sides. Her body still burned in stripes and sparks, but her limbs felt heavy, and warm beneath his weight. She realized she did feel safe, or nearly so -- aloud she said sourly, "My father I saved, but only to see him walk away from me."

Thranduil sighed and rolled off her, taking Tauriel's hand in his own. "Aye," he said. "So the living are drawn to the dead among our people; that is our fate. I have protested it, the better to protect what remains. But I am... uncommon, in that way." His voice was thick, and he held her fingers tightly. "Tauriel, what are your thoughts? Should I have gone West after my wife, as your father did and as elves have ever done? Or is it better to remain here, in the living, changing, threatened world, and love and care as best one can?"

The cool air kissed her welts, and Tauriel pulled free of Thranduil's touch. She pushed the blindfold aside and opened her eyes. The King's face was very near, his silver eyes large and bright with unshed tears. "I'm glad you stayed," she whispered, "I'm glad you're here. I want to do as you have, to love the land -- to be the forest's daughter, loyal to the trees and the beasts and the earth as well as those who bore me. I love them, I love them so much -- I do not ever want to leave for the sake of someone else's death. My own death may come or not, and my pain and grief, and I will have no more say than my Nana had over hers." She took a deep breath, inhaling the scents of her own sweat and Thranduil's body on the bed. "But while I live and can move I will fight for Middle-Earth, and I will follow you. You shall be my king, as I believe in what you do."

Thranduil groaned and they pulled one another close. They held each other long. As the hours went by they spoke of strategies, of ways to range the land efficiently, to leave no elves to fight or die alone and unaided. When the new morning's light came in through the windows, Thranduil dressed them both in silks of white and green, and they went down to the common Halls to speak to others about forming Mirkwood's Guard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY READERS -- so this has been going on for awhile, and is my second-most-kudos'd work here? but i would love comments and feedback, because it is a new thing for me and i don't know what i am doing and it is lonely. so if you're out there, please consider dropping me a line!
> 
> love,  
> \--piper


	10. denouement

The Guard was swiftly organized, and Tauriel became perforce its Captain. In retrospect, the arrow she sent to the cold-drake was the Guard's first act, and her parents' fight its reason for being. Elves ranged forth, seeking and scouring, sending birds back and forth with updated maps and news. Thranduil rode out on a great grey elk and made magic with the trees at the forest's borders, so they would be watchful and secure the lands within.

Tauriel was given a desk and an office (a word she had not previously known) and lessons in cartography and penmanship. She became obsessed with the taxonomy of drakes, dragons, and other forms of ice and flames incarnate. For two months she scarcely left the library, before Thranduil sent her out into the forest again with an inkstone and a bow. She spent another two months breaking new trails through old trees, returned footsore, and left four times her own weight in catch with the kitchen and the taxonomists. 

Legolas caught her in the aerie a few days before the equinox, and asked if she would enjoy a feast arranged to celebrate her majority. Tauriel hesitated. "It will give us a chance to eat the venison you collected," Legolas interrupted her thoughts, smiling, "before it must be made into something that will keep."

"All right," she said, smiling back; there was no need to weigh a good meal for everyone against her personal choices. This time the people who cooked knew her well, seasoning the deer she had brought with the rosemary she favored, and surprising her with golden cherries preserved in wine for dessert. When the music began, Hallothon scooped her onto his shoulders and whirled her around, and she laughed when Lassehen snatched her up and tossed her high in the air. She could not stop laughing as other elves joined the game, and she felt light and careless as an autumn leaf as they bore her aloft. When she came to Legolas he set her down and bowed, and everyone joined in the slower steps of the pavane.

Thranduil alone did not dance. He played the harp and sang and seemed merry, but before midnight he withdrew to a balcony to watch, speaking with those who climbed the steps to sit beside him. His friends brought wine to refill his glass, and as the night grew long he lay down. His long hair spilled loose over the balcony's edge, rippling in the air like water. When it was near to dawn Tauriel came and stood over him, and he rolled onto his back to meet her eyes. "Well met, forest's daughter, now a woman grown," he said, the formal words at odds with his posture. "Your promise to me is kept, and I thank you for your time and your work. Will you leave now, and return to live wild, as your -- as you did in your younger years?"

She heard his voice catch as he changed his words, over the slow slur of wine, and felt a strange sympathy. Thranduil had fought dragons beside her mother before the Age had begun, and taken her father for his first ride on a horse when he was still too young to walk alone. He had sung their stories to her, and she realized he must have missed them, in their wild life together with her. "You must be more worried now," she said, realizing it as she spoke, "about the elves in Mirkwood who do not come to the Halls."

Thranduil laughed without humor. "Captain, you know the dangers," he said, spinning his goblet between his fingers, so smoothly that the dark wine did not slosh. "I cannot shield those I cannot reach. But I have been King for long years uncounted, and worrying for my people is a task I can never complete."

Impulsively she knelt and took his hand; she was not graceful, and wine spilled over their fingers. "It may not be ours to finish the work," she said, "but only, well, to do it --?" Thranduil lifted his head, and his silvery eyes sparkled.

"That is a great truth, young Captain," he said, his voice rich with amusement now, "and I thank you for the lesson! If I thought my work were done, I would no longer be King; I would -- I would have left Middle-Earth," he ended with a sigh. He set the cup down, though Tauriel did not let go of his hand.

"My mother fought as long as she could, and my father likewise," she said, "but you remain, stronger or luckier than they. I will stay and work beside you. I am the captain, and I know my own strength now." She did not thank him for it; she did not think she had to.

Thranduil propped himself up on his elbow, looking into Tauriel's eyes. "Thank you," he said, and she blushed. For a moment they were silent. Then he pulled her hand to his mouth and licked the wine from her skin. She shivered at the warmth, but kept her grip.

"Thank you," she echoed, after all. "My work is scarce begun, and my learning the same."

"I would not hold you to a promise made in passion," he said, no longer laughing at all, and Tauriel was bewildered.

"Why not?" she demanded. "Do you think I should have called you my king with no feeling for it? Or not have listened when you said you love me?" Thranduil's face crumpled like a child's, and his silver eyes shut.

"I know I am strange," he said. "My love is not like other elves', nor do I rule like other kings, elven or otherwise. I hurt you, though I meant well enough; it would not be strange for you to hate me for it, or lie."

Tauriel considered this. "You gave me pain as a gift. Once to make me stronger, and once to break a kind of strength that did not serve me well. I have wept again since then, and more than once; my heart is lighter since I gave it voice. I have not spoken you false, nor had reason to. I do not believe that you would lie to me."

"It is strange that I find my pleasure thus," said Thranduil. His eyes were still closed tight, and his fingers clenched beneath hers.

Tauriel shook her head, though she knew he would not see. "I know no other kings," she said, "but love I know a little, and have had pleasure and pain of it both. How strange can you be, if even we two are not so different in that?"

Thranduil's eyes opened slowly, and Tauriel thought he almost smiled. But his mouth touched her hand again and opened upon it, lips passing across her knuckles. He turned her hand over in his, opening her fingers, and drew his tongue across her bowstring callus. She shivered again and he tightened his grip, pressing his cheek into her palm. His hair spilled soft across her wrist, and on impulse she sat down and pulled his head into her lap. She petted the loose blond locks, longer and softer than any beast's, and Thranduil sighed. His breath was warm on her belly, even through her festive gown. She stroked the nape of his neck and down his jaw, then back along his cheekbone, up the elegant slope of his ear. Thranduil's free arm wrapped around her waist, and at length he said, "Would that I were never a stranger, would that you loved me, and that I could give you pleasure." She had no answer for that, and so was silent. His face was pale and bright as starlight against the dark cloth of her dress, and hot as starlight never could be. "Tauriel," he said, so quietly that she leaned down to hear, "may I come to your room, and bare your skin, and touch you as I hope you might like?"

Her heart stuttered. But she did not regret having trusted her king before, and would not shy away now. "Yes," she said, and before the word was finished Thranduil was on his feet, carrying Tauriel in his arms. She gasped -- she knew he was tall, but not how it would feel like vertigo to be held against his chest, carried like a leaf on the wind down stairs, across the dawn-dim dancing hall, through winding corridors to her own soft bed.

He lay down alongside her, his hair falling around her face. He smelled warm and familiar, and as he made space for himself among her piled blankets and furs, she realized why -- she had slept beneath his silver brocade robe for almost two years, since the night she had sucked him and taken his knife. She remembered the sound of her own voice: _I am not broken. I am not afraid._

She wrapped her arms around Thranduil and held him close. He brought their mouths together, and that was a shock -- more than touch or taste or even affection, the feeling jolted through to her scalp, her breast, down her spine. She made a small, startled sound and he drew back, his gaze intent on her face. His silver eyes had darkened like stormclouds. She pushed her fingers into his hair and pulled him near, wanting more, dizzier than drunkenness with that want. He whispered "Yes --" and she felt his breath across her face before they were mouth upon mouth again.

She felt his hands upon her gown, untying its ribbons and pushing the fabric aside. Her skin felt overheated and the cool air a balm upon it, but Thranduil's touch was hotter and better, her skin seeming to come alight in its wake. She tugged as his clothing in turn, frustrated beyond reason at the velvet under her hands; eventually he pulled away and sat up. A pale sun shone through the high windows, and when Thranduil was free of his garments he seemed to glow in its light. He was white and rose and golden as the sunrise himself, roped over with silvery scars, slender and massive as an old high tree. Tauriel had never been so struck by beauty in her life, and she stared at the planes of his shoulders and arms, the lifted arc of his cock, the long drape of hair past his waist. His face had lost its glamor, revealing his dimmed eye and the bone-deep damage to his cheek and jaw -- his history of fighting with flame. She rose to her knees before him, reached up to gently stroke his face. She was too small to reach his mouth with hers, so she curled over his cock and sucked.

He groaned, lower and longer than he had the first time, combing his hands into her hair. But after a moment he pulled her mouth away and bore her down on her back, covering her with his weight. "Let me," he whispered in her ear, then kissed her there. Teeth and tongue and lip wandered from earlobe to tip, then he pushed her head to one side and kissed slowly down her neck. His mouth was very gentle put his fingers held on hard, and there was a fine tremble that ran throughout his frame. Tauriel wanted more than reason to bite him back, to kiss his scarred face or set her teeth in his strong shoulder, but Thranduil's hands in her hair held her still. She heard herself keen in frustration, and he shushed her with a gentle sound as one might a wild animal. It quieted Tauriel too, and she let herself breathe deep as he kissed her collarbone, her sternum, her breast. He closed his mouth around his nipple and suckled like a nursling, and she cried aloud in her pleasure and shock. She felt his teeth scrape over her pebbled skin as he smiled.

She gripped his neck and held on as if for dear life. His moving mouth was everything in the world, and her skin alive as if she had been made of stone before -- like the Naugrim, she thought irrelevantly, people made of actual stones. Then his mouth reached her belly and his hand caressed her cunt. For a long moment she was paralyzed with pleasure, still as a stone herself -- and then she shattered like a crystal, her vision gone white as stars. She heard herself scream and Thranduil's soft, steady voice saying, "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes."

She tried to answer but could not speak. Thranduil held her quietly, moving up to lie beside her, resting Tauriel's head upon his shoulder as his hand still cupped her crotch. Eventually her vision steadied, along with her breath; she lay beside her king boneless and exhausted. At length she shivered a little and curled into him. Somehow Thranduil had found the old brocade robe among her bedclothes, and he drew it over and around her.

It smelled like the forest, she realized, as did Thranduil himself -- all of it at once, the earth and the many trees, the smoke of autumn fires and the warm musk of wild animals asleep. He was her king, and this was her home, hers to enjoy and protect and embrace. The light of sun and stars fell upon her, fainter than rain on her skin, ethereal and eternal. She felt her memory close upon that moment, where everything was precious and pure, and another's heartbeat sounded steady in her ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think elf-men are kind of ace until marriage, but elf-women (as shown by luthien and arwen, courted by Men) are not. 
> 
> i wonder if i should go back and write more explicit notes about my thinking of how this story relates to the problems posed by jrrt's representation of elves? i can't decide if the story should speak for itself, or if folks would be interested in it more with enlightening commentary.
> 
> anyway, i'ma call this done! hope anyone who's read it has enjoyed. it is already my second-most-kudos'd fic here on ao3, so thanks to ya'll readers for stopping by and being kind <3
> 
> there will be a gen version that probably won't address these problems, but will have my prose and much of this story and culture in it, for a reader dear to me who does not want to read this pairing.
> 
> comments are life, if you read this please drop a word?
> 
> love always,  
> \--piper


End file.
